


Short on Ideas

by DoveFanworks



Series: Borrower!Prom [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Borrower!AU, Gen, I swear things will get better I promi-, borrower!Prom, real smol sad boi hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 09:27:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19989838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoveFanworks/pseuds/DoveFanworks
Summary: A pin could have dropped on the floor below them and he might have heard it, such was the depth of the silence that swallowed the room.“Holy shit,” Gladio breathed.Prompto curled in on himself, biting his lip hard enough to sting. Now he had done it. He had broken the golden rule of all borrowers. He hadn’t meant to, it had just slipped out.





	Short on Ideas

**Author's Note:**

> I'm running out of short puns for the titles people!!!>:V

A pin could have dropped on the floor below them and he might have heard it, such was the depth of the silence that swallowed the room. 

“Holy shit,” Gladio breathed.

Prompto curled in on himself, biting his lip hard enough to sting. Now he had done it. He had broken the golden rule of all borrowers. He hadn’t meant to, it had just slipped out. 

What did it even matter, he was as good as dead anyway.

“My gods,” Specs murmured, “are you… are you alright?”

“No,” he rasped.

“Are you hurt?” He said urgently, curling further over him. Prompto tried to flatten himself even more against the cold metal.

“N-no.”

His middle was bruised, his throat was drier than chalk, his heart and lungs had been running ragged for so long that his body was wracked with fatigue and the burn of exertion was spreading throughout every muscle in his body. Needless to say, it was a lie.

Despite that, Specs sighed heavily in relief.

“Thank the Astrals.”

“Why didn’t you say something sooner Tiny?” Gladio huffed, cutting off whatever Specs was about to say, “would’ve saved us all a ton of stress.”

“Gladiolus,” Specs hissed warningly.

“What? He made us chase him all over the damn apartment when he could’ve just said something.”

Prompto whimpered, prying the tips of his fingers testingly beneath the edge of the bowl, finding no purchase at all. 

“Gladio, shut up.”

“And he stabbed me,” Gladio grumbled. Prompto felt the stinging in his eyes flare up.

“I’m sorry little one,” Specs said gently after another tense moment, “I’m so sorry for how you’ve been treated, we only wish to speak with you, but we feared if you ran away we would never get another chance.”

“Do you have a name?” Noct blurted like he couldn’t keep it contained anymore, making Prompto jolt once again, he had almost forgotten he was there, “what do we call you?”

He could catch glimpses of those dark eyes staring at him curiously through the holes in the walls again, like he was scared he would disappear if he didn’t keep him firmly in his sights. Prompto wished he could.

He kept his mouth shut. They already had his entire being, he could at least keep his name off their tongues. It was the only thing he imagined he had left.

The seconds dragged by at an agonizing pace, the dark-haired bean’s gaze shifting from expectant to disappointed.

“Do you not have one?”

Prompto blinked, realising idly that there was a dampness pooling in the corners of his eyes. He forced himself to swallow the urge to answer. Gladio gave a deep, exasperated sigh and he tried not to cower.

“Alright let’s just get to the point then, why are you living in the Prince’s apartment?”

Prince? He kept hearing that word tossed around, usually right before ‘Noctis’. He had always just kind of assumed it was Noct’s full name. Humans were weird like that.

“I do- I don’t know?” Prompto choked out before he could stop himself, feeling his trembling surge into his shoulders. He didn’t want to get grabbed by those colossal hands again, the mere thought of them squeezing around his body making his head spin and his stomach lurch.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Gladio huffed, shifting on his knees so his immense shadow fell over him.

“I don-”

“Gladio,” Specs snarled.

“We need to be sure Ig.”

“Lay off,” Noct hissed, anger dripping from his tongue, “you’re gonna give him a heart attack dumbass.”

“Oh I am, am I? Mr ‘I’m not scaring him’.”

“At least I was trying to calm him down,” Noct huffed, sounding put out.

“How well did that go?”

“Would the both of you kindly shut up?”

Prompto blinked owlishly, unsure of what to do. 

Specs sighed.

“This is going nowhere,” he muttered, before the patchy silhouette of his face was returning to him, eyes going soft again and voice gentle, “little one, do you not know what a Prince is?”

“N-no?” Prompto squeaked, wondering if that was a crime amongst humans, and if so, what the penalty for it was.

All three of the beans went silent for a couple of moments that dragged into their own little eternities. Prompto felt a shiver race up his spine.

“Well,” Noct said, “guess that explains that.”

“It don’t explain shit.”

“Gladio will you please shut up-”

“Come on Tiny, you expect us to believe you’re just all the way up in the penthouse of this particular building by chance? The one building with the Prince of Lucis in it, yeah I’m not buying it.”

“I d-don’t know what th-that is!” Prompto yelped, trying and failing to curl into himself even more, heart jackhammering up into his throat.

“So you just managed to move in here by sheer chance?”

“I-I-” Prompto stammered.

“Gladio-”

“How the hell did you even get all the way up here? How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know! I d-don’t kno-ow!” Prompto cried, the last threads holding his head together finally snapping, whipping his brain into a panicked frenzy.

“Pl-please, please don’t kill me!” He heard himself howl in a voice that sounded nothing like his own, before he did something he was frankly astounded he hadn’t done as soon as his first hiding place had been found. He burst into tears.

“Oh… shit, uh-”

“Not another word,” Specs hissed with such venom it was a wonder the larger bean didn’t drop dead there and then. Prompto barely noticed, too busy heaving in thick, watery breaths, burying his face in his knees so he at least wouldn’t have to look at his captors. He didn’t want to see their reactions, whether it was anger, disgust, or their worthless pity. It wouldn’t make him any less imprisoned. 

“We are not going to kill you little one,” he said gently, regret staining his voice as Prompto hiccuped into the worn fabric of his pants, “no one here is going to hurt you, I swear it on my own life.”

Something warm touched gently at his back and Prompto shot forward like he had been burned, realising with horror that it was a giant fingertip rubbing at him through one of the holes in the wall. He gasped wetly, dragging himself closer to the middle of the bowl, eyes never straying from that giant hand. It pulled back slightly, hesitant, before lifting away so he could place that it had indeed belonged to Specs. 

He shuddered in revulsion, curling himself into a tight ball on his side, focusing on the cold, hard floor injecting ice through his skin. It was a better focus than everything else around him. The seconds dragged on for what felt like an eternity, the rumbling whispers of the giants above him barely registering through his choked off sobs.

“We can’t do this anymore,” Specs spoke over the others, “this is vile.”

There was a deep sigh to his left.

“Let him get it out Ig, maybe he’ll calm down after tha-”

“No, this is over.”

“Well what would you suggest then?”

He didn’t answer right away. Prompto sniffled into his arms and prayed it would be quick. 

“Little one? I’m going to let you out.”

Prompto jerked backwards, uncurling and scrambling back to press himself once again against the far wall.

No.  _ No, no no _ . He didn’t want to be stared at again. Didn’t want to get grabbed again. At least under the bowl he didn’t have to endure that, the bean’s curious eyes mostly blocked by the walls and regulated to small flashes through the holes. 

“What?!” Gladio barked.

“You can’t,” Noct added, jolting back up from where he had practically been lying down to peer in at him, “we’ll never see him again.”

“He is not some pet to be toyed with as we wish,” Specs snapped, “this is barbaric and you know it.”

Noct was silent for a few long moments, and Prompto could feel his lungs shuddering in his chest as he waited for his judgment. He didn’t really know why, he certainly didn’t act like it, but he got the impression that the shorter bean somehow had the most authority in the house. He sure seemed to be doted on enough.

“I know,” Noct finally said, voice softened with guilt, “but… we can’t just leave him all alone, what if something happens to him?”

“Am I seriously the only one worried about whether he’s up to no good or not here?” Gladio grumbled irritably.

“If you cannot put together by now that we’re dealing with nothing more than a very small, very scared boy then you’re an utter fool.”

“Oi!”

“You could be a bit nicer at least,” Noct huffed.

“My main concern is your safety Princess, people can easily force some tears.”

“He’s not even five inches tall dumbass! What the hell do you think he’s gonna do exactly?”

“You know most of the successful assassinations in Lucian history came from poisonings right Charmless? How easy do you think a guy that size could slip something into your food or drink?”

Prompto chewed his lip until copper touched his tongue, listening to the giants argue. He had no idea what they were going on about, what he even had to do with any of this, and his hands drifted behind him to claw in vain at the lip of the bowl once again. 

Only… they met nothing.

His gaze snapped over his shoulder, jaw dropping when he found a sizable gap between the edge of the bowl and the floor. It was lifted. He could leave.

Prompto glanced back, wide eyes meeting sad green ones for a moment so brief he could almost convince himself he had imagined it, before he threw himself backwards, rolling beneath the lip of the bowl and diving the short distance into the gap between the wall and the fridge.

“What the fuck?!”

“Ignis, did you-”

A wave of sheer, mind-numbing relief swept through Prompto’s little body from his head all the way down to his feet, short, watery gasps falling from his lips as he forced himself deeper, knowing he would never feel completely safe until he was firmly inside the wall. 

The sharp sound of rustling movement made him jump, jamming himself around the sharp turn of the corner and, at long last, entirely out of view of his pursuers.

“Let him go! Both of you!”

“The hell are you thinking Iggy? We fucking had him-”

“What we had was a child, Gladio,” Specs said slowly, dangerously, “a tiny, terrified child.”

“And you think we’re gonna fix any of that now that we’ll never be able to speak to him again?” Gladio snarled right back.

Prompto didn’t listen any further, stumbling down the narrow, grimy passage towards where he remembered a crack split the plaster of the wall. 

He had let him go. They had caught him, they had him completely trapped. There should have been no way he had gotten out of there. He didn’t know what beans did with borrowers when they caught them, but his parents had always told him it was never anything good.

But… one of them had let him go, knowing that he would likely disappear forever if given the chance. His mind couldn’t handle it at all, so he pushed it aside, forcing himself to keep putting one tired leg in front of the other.

It was only when he felt his foot snag that he remembered the spider.

He jerked his head upward, heart shooting back into its by now normal position in his throat as he searched for the big, hairy beast. When his eyes settled upon its dark form, buried beneath the dust, he found he needn’t have worried.

It was long dead.

The spider was curled on its back, legs coiled in and over itself, dried to paper husks. Its small multitude of eyes gleamed beadily in its flat head, like glass marbles, shiny and cold and utterly lifeless.

The acrid reek of human poison still perfumed it like a death veil.

Prompto shuddered, pressing himself flat against the wall to inch past, before dashing for the opening just behind it, not daring to take another breath until the darkness swallowed him whole.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


Prompto didn’t stop, stumbling through the maze of the inner walls with no idea of where he was even going, body on autopilot and brain fully checked out. His skin would not stop tingling, itching like he was being crawled over by dust mites.

He felt the world around him like he was inside a bubble, like he was still trapped beneath that bowl. In theory, he could feel his grime streaked hands scrabbling over rough wood and plaster, could feel himself slipping down lines of cables and squeezing through the tighter regions of the internal walls. But it was all distant, muted, numbed, like he was stuck perpetually in that space between sleep and wakefulness. 

He stumbled over his feet again, a painful cough raking the walls of his dry throat. He scrambled through dusty passageways and around the cold, creaking bones of the colossal building, slipping deeper and downwards until even the echoes of the bean’s voices had faded to silence in his head. He kept going until the dark gave way to light and the soul was abruptly shoved back into his body.

He gasped as it returned to him, the numbness starting to drain from his fingertips and his brain blinked back online behind his eyes. 

He was downstairs, in the old lady’s apartment, he realised dimly, he had darted right through the knothole in the back of the giant old cabinet in the living room. As always, it was stacked high with fine, polished plates and bowls and cups decorated with the most intricate patterns he had ever seen. He believed it was called china, but there wasn’t a borrower in the world that had ever owned such luxurious things, so he hardly saw the point of them really.

Prompto barely made it to the far corner of the shelf (the top one, if his murky memory was correct), hidden away out of sight, though by the sound of it the lady wasn’t even home right now. 

He slumped back against the corner, slipping bonelessly to the wood below him. He expected more tears, but they didn’t come. He could only stare ahead into the dim, dusty grain of the wood.

Where did he even go from this?

The question spiraled in his head well into the morning, ticking by into midday, until exhaustion took his body and he fell prey to sleep, curled tight like a pill bug behind the stacks of beautiful china plates.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


Waking up was a slow, laborious process, his eyelids heaving open like he was prizing open a rusty socket. Prompto blinked into the gloom, the pale light giving him the distinct feeling that it was early morning. 

He swung his head around blarily, not knowing for a few panicked seconds where he was. His eyes traced the cold, pale crockery surrounding him and it all came back like a splash of ice water to the face. He lurched upward with a tiny gasp, squishing himself back into the corner of the cabinet as he glanced feverishly around him, searching for any signs of a bean in the house, but the silence was absolute. It didn’t set him at ease in the slightest.

Prompto slowly pushed himself up on to his arms, his spine stiff from being curled in the same position all night, and on such a hard surface on top of that. Yet it was nothing compared to the cramps burning throughout his muscles, bunched heavily in his legs and across his middle, the ache of the bruising over his ribs only adding to the strain as he forced himself to his feet.

He bit a groan back behind his teeth, shuffling his clothes so he could peek under his shirt. He couldn’t keep back a hiss at the sight. The skin across his ribs was dark and blotchy, bruises stretching from the bottom of one pectoral down a good distance across his belly. He gave it a testing prod and flinched at the sting it sent skittering through his flesh.

It looked like he wouldn’t be doing too much strenuous activity for a while, and that only made his current dilemma of getting the fuck out of this building that much more of a challenge. 

His stomach grumbled at him pointedly, and he was quickly reminded of the fact that he hadn’t eaten anything since the previous morning. Gods he had slept all through the day and night, not exactly surprising given the strains his body and mind had been put under, but still far too much time wasted when he should have been spending it getting further away. And yet…

Prompto’s gaze slid slowly upwards, as though he could see through the ceiling to the floor above him, where everything had unfolded. It was almost unnatural how… natural things were. The world was going on around him like usual, like nothing had changed at all, like the safe, simple routine of his life hadn’t just come crashing down to a disastrous end.

“What now?” He murmured to no one. Well, he truly had no idea. For the first time in a while, the true extent of just how alone he had become rose up to slap him in the face. Every convenience it had granted him, like the fact that he was free to do whatever he wished with no voices of reason to stop him, gave way beneath him to the dangerous pit below. No one to fall back on, no experienced elders to tell him what he should do, to take the reins and usher him to safety, reassure him that all would be well.

There was no one, just him. It had been just him for what felt like forever, but it had never felt as vile and cloying as it did now.

He wished there was still someone around he could talk to, to do something as basic as touching, leaning against another warm, comforting body, _ how long had it been since he had been hugged? _ He wished his mother was still around to wrap her arms around him. To whisper stories of borrowers that had mastered the wilds and rode fearsome birds of prey, so quick that no human or beast could hope to catch them.

All nothing but fairytales, a bitter part of him hissed, there was nothing in this world that could evade humans forever. Their curiosity was ever prying and never truly sated.

The unmistakable sound of a cat yowling to be fed shot him to his aching feet, bristling in case the beast had spotted him in his sleep-induced stupor, but it seemed like it was still somewhere deeper in the house.

“Alright, alright Willabee darling, I’m coming sweetie,” came the voice of the old lady, over the sound of a door opening. Prompto bit his lip to silence the gasp clawing up his throat, scrambling back to the hole in the back of the cabinet as the women wandered past towards the kitchen. He caught a glimpse of the furry menace tight on her heels, fuzzy tail held high and ears pricked. He wondered with a belated thrill of horror if the cat had been in the apartment the entire time he had been knocked out, if he had simply lucked out with neither of them stumbling upon his hiding place. 

That was the trouble with the old lady’s apartment, the cat wasn’t always around. From what he could gather, the woman looked after it from time to time for a family member, yet the unpredictability of whether or not it would be there never failed to set him on edge. It was part of the reason he had ended up choosing to settle in the walls of Noct’s apartment over hers.

_ Noct _ .

A shudder twisted its way up his spine, coiling serpentlike around each vertebrae as the memory of those dark, knowing eyes peering at him so inquisitively. Like he was a particularly interesting insect trapped beneath a jar. Or a bowl as it were.

He didn’t know what to do.  _ He didn’t know what to do _ .

He realised he had been standing in the entrance back into the wall for far too long, but the sounds of the lady and the cat had softened, and he was struck once again with the revelation that he truly had nowhere to go anymore like a punch square to the gut. 

The only place he could think to go… was back home. 

_ No. No, no fucking way, he couldn’t- _

But where else was there? He had no tools on him, no food or water and it felt like he hadn’t seen either in over a week, his throat was so dry it was a pain to swallow. He had stashes of both in his little den. Not to mention spare grappling hooks, lengths of string and twine, a couple more clothes pins.

Everything he’d need to even hope to survive out in the world when he went looking for a new home. And so to, was his ticket out of here.

His mind flickered back to one of the questions that giant, Gladio, had bombarded him with and, though he probably wouldn’t have been able to speak it even if his mind had supplied the answer at the time, he  _ hadn’t  _ climbed all the way up here. Geez for a guy his size? That would have taken him days most likely, he would have worn himself out well before then with no steady food or water source. Some borrowers might have preferred the nomadic way of living but he sure as hell wasn’t one of them.

No, he had flown up here. 

He had only been eight when his mother had taken him for his first ride on the back of her sparrow, a gentle-natured old hen named Homily. He had never felt as gigantic as he had seated before her in the beautiful, hand stitched saddle, soaring over the endless city and the clueless heads of the humans who usually towered above him.

When he had turned twelve, his father had shown him how the bonds between borrowers and their birds began to be formed, how to make basic tack out of everyday materials, and how to read the weather so he never flew when a storm or strong winds were looming.

When he had turned fourteen he had noticed the sparrow with only one leg that liked to visit the garden. He’d snuck a sunflower seed and a couple chunks of a tea biscuit under his shirt and waved them about until the bird fluttered awkwardly to the ground to inspect the offering.

When he turned fifteen, he had no parents. But he had a one legged sparrow and his mother’s beautiful, hand stitched saddle and, with a bag stuffed full of memories, he had left his childhood home far behind him.

Now, almost eighteen, he would have to leave everything behind once again. The only problem was, not only was all of the gear he needed for the journey back in his hideaway, he hadn’t called for his sparrow in months. There just hadn’t been the need, and now he felt his heart gripped with the cold fear that his bird would have moved on from him. That he would be left with no other option but the long, dangerous climb all the way down to the bottom floor.

Prompto shook his head, hearing the old lady cooing over that fat, evil little cat of hers again, and made up his mind. 

Even if they knew he existed, there was no way those beans knew where he had set up his ramshackle home within the wall. So long as he was quiet, and quick, he could get what he needed without drawing their attention.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


When he reached the cramped corridor that ran behind the kitchen he realised he needn’t have worried so much. It was Tuesday, a school day, and from the sounds of it, yesterday’s drama hadn’t suddenly made Specs willing to give Noct a break from it. Whatever it was.

But it worked well for him. He still jumped at every creak and bump within the house, though every time he recognised it as just the regular tempo of the house heaving around him, every sound still made him freeze up like he was pinned beneath those giant eyes again.

He made short work of emptying his stash, shoving the meager stockpile of food and water he had down his throat. He paused when he uncovered the last couple of cookie crumbs, staring hard as his heart lurched in his chest. His rationality won out in the end, reminding him it was foolish to waste food on the superstitious notion that Specs would somehow know, and he quickly ate the last of those as well. They tasted like grit and dirt on his tongue. 

Geared up once again with his backup grappling hook and both of his spare clothes pins speared through either side of his jacket, he began the climb up further into the roof.

When he had arrived at this place, he had landed his bird on the balcony so he could peer inside and get an idea of what kind of bean occupied it. He remembered being utterly blindsided by the mess taking up most of the main room in the fancy apartment, trash bags and old takeout containers covering almost every free surface.

Not entirely pleasant, but messy was actually good for a borrower, plenty of places to hide and those types of beans usually didn’t notice nearly as much as the clean kind. 

Then, barely a few days after he had moved in, Specs came in like a furious, overly proper whirlwind and the apartment was left spotless in his wake. He might have moved right back out then and there… were it not for the food. 

Prompto forced his mind out of the past, refocusing on the future as he scurried through the roof, past the loose fitting of the living room light and all the way to the opposite side of the apartment. Where the balcony stretched right along the length of the far wall. 

It was a long shot, but he had to at least try to call for his bird. To risk the climb down to ground level alone, and then the myriad dangers of the city beyond that, it was almost suicidal. He  _ needed _ his bird.

He shimmied down another line of cabling, and he was pretty sure it ran to the television. The thought of the machine now made his gut curl in bitterness, even if he logically knew it hadn’t really done anything wrong. His situation right now was entirely his own stupid fault.

When he reached the bottom he stilled for a long couple of moments, waiting for any noise, any sign at all that there was anyone home. But the house was silent. He breathed out shakily through his teeth, before turning in the tight space and beginning to lever out a small, loose brick from the surrounding stone. 

As soon as it came free Prompto was struck with the frigid chill of the outside air. He hissed through his teeth, pulling his makeshift jacket closer around himself before squeezing out through the narrow gap, out into the midday sun and the sheer enormity of the human city. 

The wind howled past the balcony like a feral beast, and he was at least thankful that the glass barriers surrounding the ledge kept him sheltered down on the floor, or he may well have been blown away to his death. He hugged himself against the smaller gusts that still managed to reach him though, tucking his chin down into the loose wool of his shirt to hide his neck. It wasn’t even winter yet but still the chill of the air so high up cut through his clothes, and he regretted not donning at least the undershirt of his riding gear before he had come out here. 

But he wasn’t planning to be out here long at least, every second out in the open making his stomach twist tighter and tighter, even if his brain was telling him over and over that there was no one home. 

It was that kind of thinking that had gotten him into this situation in the first place…

Steeling himself, he turned to his left and crossed the short distance to the corner of the balcony, sticking close to the wall just in case any stronger gusts managed to sweep in over the railing. 

The steel pipe of one of the drains opened out down this end, a hole in the stone beneath it allowing rain run off to empty down into the pipe of the floor beneath and so on until it finally reached the ground far below. A pretty ingenious, simple way of nullifying the threat of flooding he had to admit, but the pipe itself would also serve a purpose for him.

It amplified the whistle call his sparrow was trained to come too far better than his tiny hands could.

Glancing feverishly around one last time, like he expected Noct or Gladio to come hurtling out the balcony door any second now, he clasped his hands in the familiar position over his lips and whistled the sharp, short tune up into the yawning maw of the rain pipe. 

When the sound faded completely, he was left with nothing but the cold laugh of the wind, licking around the glass and stone. 

Again he brought his hands to his face, and again he whistled the signal. 

And again. 

And again. 

And again.

The wind chortled and cackled on, whipping his desperate calls away.

Prompto sighed, not really sure what he had even been expecting. The sounds of the city crept up from below, the monstrous hearts of human machines snarling and purring, the sirens of something he couldn’t even begin to guess faint within the depths of the mountainous buildings. 

Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, he was reminded of just how insignificant he was in the grand scheme of things. He swallowed tightly, squeezing his eyes shut in a bid to hold back the wave of despair that was breaking over him. He couldn’t stay out here, he needed to get back into cover.

Silently, he shambled back to the hole he had crawled from, hands shoved under his armpits both to fend off the chill in his fingertips and so that perhaps he could pretend they weren’t shaking as hard as he knew they were.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


He didn’t dare sleep in his own bed that night. His heart hammered in his chest at the mere thought of hearing the voices of Noct or Specs, of potentially hearing them talking about  _ him _ .

He slept curled in the dust of the old lady’s ceiling, not trusting the cat enough to sleep in the china cabinet again.

His entire body ached when he woke the next morning, but he dutifully waited until almost midday before he climbed back up into the walls of Noct’s apartment, ignoring how his stomach begged to be filled. 

Out on the balcony, he whistled up into the pipe again. The flutter of wings had made his heart soar, only to plummet back down to the cold ground when a startled pigeon launched awkwardly off the edge of the building’s roof. 

An hour later, he trudged back inside, hands numb, nose running, and still completely alone. 

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


He managed to call for an hour and twenty minutes the next day. He supposed that didn’t matter to a sparrow that was likely on the other side of the city. 

He didn’t have any other choice, he would have to make the climb. But it did lead him to a far more troubling thought. For a journey this long and harsh, he was going to need supplies…

And that meant he had some borrowing to do. 

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


Four days following the incident, Prompto didn’t even bother trying to call his sparrow. 

He had forced himself to slip into the pantry to begin gathering essentials the previous afternoon, well before Noct could get home from school, namely a plain biscuit from an open bag that he had broken and packed away into five little parcels.

Biscuits kept for days and were relatively light to carry, and he was going to need everything he could get if he wanted any hope of even making it to a new home. 

But today, he couldn’t even bring himself to get up. 

He had allowed himself a stupid but shockingly cathartic luxury the night before and, after waiting long into the night until he was completely certain Noct was asleep, he had slipped into his own bed. The soft, cushy quilt was a balm to his bruised, aching body and he crashed down into a deep sleep almost as soon as he had crawled beneath the blanket.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


Prompto woke to the sound of voices and immediately his body was alight with adrenaline, shooting out of bed only to crumple to his knees when his poor, abused muscles seized in protest. He panted harshly, hearing the familiar voices drawing closer and hunkering down closer to the ground.

They didn’t know he was still here.  _ They didn’t know he was still here _ .

“-you realise Gladio wouldn’t be so harsh in training if you actually showed up on time Noct?”

“Whatever.”

Prompto swallowed, but it felt like nothing went down. He scrambled back to his feet, quietly but quickly grabbing his grappling hook and his pins, before carefully pulling aside the old, dented piece of tin that acted both as a wall and a door. He heard a muffled sigh.

“Do you intend to carry on this tantrum forever, Highness? I stand by what I did.”

Prompto froze, hands tightening on the rough, cold edge of the metal.

“I’m not having a tantrum,” Noct hissed back.

“Then you tell me what this is,” Specs answered with an almost terrifying air of calm, “because I cannot think of any other description for this mood of yours.”

He thought he might have just heard the muffled sound of Noct muttering something in return, but he couldn’t make out the words. Prompto could feel his blood thundering in his ears, heart playing a staccato beat against his ribs as he waited with bated breath for them to continue.

“You’re acting like nothing’s fucking changed, like nothing even happened.”

“What would you rather I do Noct? Drop everything else in my life? And for what? You and I both know that he is likely long gone by now, there is no point getting worked up over it. It’s done now.”

Prompto felt his chest give a sickening lurch.

“And whose fault is that?” Noct replied bitterly.

“I will not apologize for nor do I regret the choice I made,” Specs said, tone turning icy. Prompto could only stare silently at the wall before him, breaths coming shakily in and out of his lungs. 

“You could at least act like you’re worried about him, it’s like he didn’t even exist to you-”

Wait, what?

“You think I’m not?” Specs said slowly, incredulously, “I have thought of almost nothing these past few days except for what we did, what dangers we might have forced that boy into by making him run from us, not to mention what damage we could have accidentally caused him had things gone worse than they had.”

“Don’t really think things could have gone any worse,” Noct muttered.

“They could well have,” Specs replied darkly, “and all of that is without even knowing what torment he might have suffered in the past, what we did was beyond foolish, and crueler than I should have ever allowed.”

“We didn’t hurt him Iggy,” Noct said weakly.

“Perhaps not physically, but we still chased a tiny, defenceless boy down and trapped him like an animal, if we had even thought of doing that to a regular sized person we would likely be thrown in prison.”

Prompto had heard enough, in fact he had heard far too much. He couldn’t decide what he was feeling, all he knew was that it made him sick to his stomach yet somehow… light, like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. It was a dangerously stupid thing to feel, he decided. 

He tightened his grip on the tin wall, heaving it the last of the way aside, letting a hand fall to one of the pins still securely pierced through his jacket, and slipping out into the further recesses of the apartment.

The voices of the beans still carried, though they were muffled as he headed upwards, scampering up the tangle of wires even faster than usual. 

“I don’t like what we did either Specs, but is this really better? If he’s really alone out there, then literally everything around here could kill him, he was fucking tiny.”

“And the alternative? Keeping him trapped against his will like some twisted kind of pet?”

Prompto was sure he was going to throw up.

“No!” Noct snapped, and Prompto stilled again, eyes wide in surprise, “fuck, no, of course not, it’s just, we were starting to talk, he was scared yeah, but what if Gladio was right? If he had gotten through that what if he really had started talking to us properly? Maybe he would have understood we really weren’t going to do anything to him.”

It was faint, but he heard Specs snort.

“I somewhat doubt that with how… intensely, Gladio was interrogating the poor thing.”

Noct groaned.

“Gods yeah, no wonder the little guy was so freaked.”

“I’d say it was a group effort really.”

Against every instinct within him, a tiny huff of amusement flew past his lips before he could stop it. Prompto clapped a hand over his mouth, like he could somehow shove it back in. He shouldn’t have been laughing at these beans, these humans who had caused him so much despair.

When Specs spoke again, it was so soft that he almost missed it.

“He has clearly been living under his own power for a while from what I could tell, I’m sure he is doing fine, wherever he is, I understand it’s hard, but try not to get so worked up over what could have been, Noct.”

Prompto blinked in the dim light, unsure why exactly his chest felt tight, like he was about to burst into tears. Noct was silent for a long moment.

“Right,” he said softly, followed by another beat of honey-thick quiet, before the thump of heavy, dragging footfalls began again, “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“I will start preparing dinner then,” Specs replied, voice dropped back to a gentle lilt. 

The sound of a door closing and the buzz of water in the pipes echoed dimly around him but Prompto barely noticed, staring ahead into nothing. His mind was racing, but his heart wasn’t. He couldn’t pinpoint where it had sprung from, but his chest felt still for the first time in days, like water in a glass. 

His brain buzzed unerringly around a single, burning question searing itself into the front of his mind and refusing to release him. 

Why had Specs let him go?

He would be lying if he said he hadn’t been haunted by the question every passing day, how could he not? He had been trapped, by all accounts he should be dead, or stuck in whatever it was humans did to borrowers at the very least, yet here he was.

Because a human had let him go.

But the overheard conversation had stoked that smoldering curiosity right up into a roaring  _ need _ for an answer. And what may well have been his one opportunity had just presented itself.

Prompto’s eyes flicked up, locking on the familiar, loose fitting of the living room ceiling light across the span of the roof. Specs, even taller than Noct, still couldn’t reach the light, and the couch would be too far for him to use it as a boost… he hoped. 

Prompto swallowed tightly, a voice in the back of his head shrieking at him for even considering this.  _ But when would he ever have the chance again? _

The question was apt to torment him for the rest of his life if it went unanswered, a part of him always wondering…

When he blinked back into himself, Prompto found the light fixture was at his feet. He felt his heart slide down into the pit of his stomach, thrumming there like a live coal.

Below him, he could hear Specs moving about the kitchen. The shower droned on in the other room, the thick pipes sending vibrations up through his feet, and he knew he wouldn’t have long.

‘Am I really about to do this?’ Prompto thought faintly, listening as Specs apparently moved from the kitchen to the living room. The couch creaked. Prompto swallowed hard again. It was almost ominous just how perfectly this was setting itself up.

_ There was no way he was really about to do this… _

But he would never get another chance.

Dropping to a crouch, he edged the fitting out of its socket, every scrape of metal on stone making him flinch and seize.

It popped free far faster than usual, or so it felt. He could feel his hands shaking as he pushed it aside. Light beamed up through the hole, even though the light wasn’t switched on, and the bowl hung beneath like a great open pit. He normally found no hassle at all climbing in and out of it, but this time he found himself second guessing. Would he be able to clamber back into the roof fast enough if the bean took a swipe at him? It was a risk he shouldn’t have even been considering, were it not for that one simple fact…

Specs had been the one to let him go.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Prompto slipped first his legs, then the rest of himself through the opening, taking extra care not to make a sound as he stepped on to the ceramic. The smell of garlic and onions hung heavy in the air, not yet carrying the delicious tones of cooking, instead raw and overpowering as they filled his nose. 

He glanced up as he released his hold on the metal strut he had slid down, catching a glimpse of the decimated vegetables and the gigantic knife that had done it resting on a large cutting board. No sign of Specs either, but that wasn’t all that was missing.

The camera was gone too. Prompto almost laughed, it was a stupid gesture, if they had indeed removed it for his sake. 

A sigh crept up from beneath him and Prompto shivered. Specs was definitely on the couch then. His gaze flicked to the rim of the bowl, his heart fluttering like a bird within the cage of his ribs and he decided he wasn’t brave enough to risk a peek over it. 

He was already going too far as it was. He didn’t want to  _ see _ the human’s reaction. 

Prompto pressed his arms against the bulb of the lamp, pressing his cheek to the cool glass and squeezing his eyes tightly closed. He counted to five and found that stubborn question still burning a hole in his brain. 

Nothing else for it then.

Prompto swallowed, took a deep breath, and spoke.

“You let me go.”

He heard more than saw the human jerk, a sharp intake of breath into giant lungs telling him he had most definitely been heard. 

“You’re still here,” Specs said softly, awe filling his voice.

There was the rustle of movement, and he imagined the bean was looking around, trying to pinpoint where he was. Prompto squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to shiver.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” he mumbled.

Specs didn’t reply right away, so Prompto forced himself to go on before the last of his nerve fled him.

“Why did you let me go?”

“Why?” Specs repeated incredulously, “you were terrified, but more than that, you’re not some animal for us to trap or imprison.”

“The other ones wanted to…”

Specs sighed.

“Yes and no,” he said gently, “I am truly sorry for how much stress we must have put you through, we were worried that if we could not initiate a conversation with you then you would run and we would never see you again.”

“And if our places were swapped?” Prompto barked, his height and hiding place giving him a foolish burst of bravado, “you wouldn’t have done the same?”

“Of course I would have, in fact I imagine I wouldn’t have gotten half as far as you did,” Specs said smoothly, and the term ‘silver-tongue’ flashed through his mind, “I completely understand if you do not believe this, but if you are speaking to me willingly then I hope that you will take it to heart: we truly had no intention of hurting you.”

“Then what the fuck do you want with me?!”

Again, Specs was silent for a long moment. A thrill of fear went through him, wondering if he had gone too far and half expecting a giant hand to appear and snatch him from his hiding place.

Specs sighed quietly, sadly.

“I suppose, we wanted to know why you were here at first, it was a little worrying that there was someone living in secret in the Prince’s apartment, it’s mine and Gladio’s duty to ensure his safety, you see?”

Prompto didn’t see, not really. He still had no idea what a Prince even was, but he guessed it had to be something important in human culture. If it warranted this much drama over a single borrower living in his home.

“Although,” Specs continued slowly, hesitantly, “I must admit the more I dwelled on things, and the more I studied the footage I had inadvertently captured of you, the more I must admit to growing personally worried for you. You just... seemed so young, and you looked to be alone, I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“And how did that go?”

He jumped when that earned him a soft chuckle, vaguely self-deprecating. 

“Not well at all, I fear.”

“No,” Prompto agreed quietly, wrapping his arms around his knees and tugging them close, back to the light bulb. His mind was whirling.

“Would you… would you please come out?”

Prompto froze up instantly, shaking his head roughly before realising that the human couldn’t possibly see it.

“N-no,” he finally forced out, “I- please don’t make me again.”

“It’s alright, it’s alright, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you that,” Specs said soothingly, his lilting accent washing across his skin, “none of us will force you to do anything you don’t want.”

Prompto opened his mouth to voice his doubts when he heard the drone of the shower stop.

“I have to go,” Prompto gasped, shooting to his feet and starting to climb back up the stem of the light.

“Wait!” Specs called, the rustle of the couch telling him that he was pushing himself up too, “you’re nervous around Noct, that is understandable, and I will not stop you from leaving, but please… will you come and talk to me again?”

Prompto froze halfway through the opening, worrying his lip. The only reason he had pulled such a stupid stunt was because he had been in a safe, hidden spot and he had wanted, no,  _ needed _ , an answer. 

He had his answer, sort of. He had no reason to ever make himself known again.

“I shouldn’t,” he mumbled, not expecting the bean to hear it.

“Please,” Specs pleaded, “consider it, I can put aside some food for you somewhere safe if you’d like as well, I’m sure you must be hungry.”

“I don’t need it,” Prompto hissed before he could stop himself, “I’m a borrower, I’m not supposed to be known, beans aren’t supposed to give us stuff, I don’t need or want your help! Just leave me alone!”

The sound of a door opening spooked him right out of his rage and straight into cold terror at the reaction his words might ignite. He shot up into the roof with no further hesitation, back into the safe darkness of the walls.

He didn’t sleep in his own bed that night. He didn’t even stop at his den, he raced right past it and down into the apartment below, not stopping until his back was pressed to the icy, intricate patterns of fine china. 

He didn’t think it was possible to fall asleep when his heart was rocketing so fast he felt it would burst right out of his throat, but at some point he must have.

When he woke, stiff and sore and miraculously still not eaten by the cat, his eyes stung with the salt of dry tears. 


End file.
